HOMICIDE
An almost intolerable cold had descended upon the prairie when Leland
reached the coulee where Sergeant Grier was mustering his forces late at
night. They were not a very strong body, three troopers of the Northwest
Police, all of them rather young, two prairie farmers, Leland, Gallwey,
and the Sergeant, but the latter had decided that they would be enough,
for the purpose. He was aware that, in an affair of this kind, a few men
who understand exactly what they have to do, and can be relied on to set
about it quietly and collectedly, are apt to prove more efficient than a
larger body. The unnecessary man, he knew, is usually busy getting in
his comrade's way. There was also another reason which Leland had
pointed out. Since his acquaintances had undertaken the business, it was
advisable that they should carry it out without exposing themselves
unnecessarily to the outlaws' vengeance. There were several bands of the
latter acting more or less in concert, and it would lessen the risks if
there were only three or four men liable to them in place of several
times as many.
The Sergeant quite concurred in this, and, when Leland rode up stiff
with frost, quietly sent the men out to their stations. Just there, the
beaten trail that led south to the frontier dipped into one of the
winding ravines, traversing the country with many a loop and bend. A
sluggish creek flowed through its bottom beneath the ice, and a growth
of willows and birches that there found shelter from the winds straggled
up its sides. Trees fringed the crest of the dip, too, and in places
overflowed into the prairie in scattered spurs. The trail ran through
their midst, and there was no doubt that, if the outlaws came at all,
which was not certain, they would come that way, since there are
disadvantages attached to leading loaded horses through a thick
birch-bluff in the darkness.
A farmer and one of the troopers were sent back to where the trees ran
farther out into the prairie, and they were to lie hidden there and cut
off the retreat in case the rustlers endeavoured to head back the way
they had come. The main body lined the trail in the thickest of the
bluff, just below the crest of the ravine, and Leland and one young
trooper proceeded to the foot of the declivity. It would be their
business to stop anybody who might succeed in breaking through the rest
of the ambuscade. Each of them knew precisely what was expected of him,
and the only uncertainty was whether the rustlers were coming, and if
so, how many there would be of them.
It was a suitable night for their purpose, neither too dark nor too
light. The heavens were barred with drifting wreaths of cloud, between
which every now and then a half-moon and an occasional star shone down.
The birches wailed as they shook their frail twigs beneath a bitter
wind. Leland was sensible of a distressing tingling in his numbed feet
and hands. The young trooper beside him limped and stumbled, a shadowy,
indistinct figure in his furs, stiff with cold. Their softly moccasined
feet made no sound. Both of them wondered whether they could use their
slung rifles, if the necessity arose.
It is possible, without feeling desperately cold, to face the frost of
the Northwest in a prairie waggon when one is packed about with hay and
wrapped in big fur robes, but there are times when the man who travels
on horseback runs the risk of freezing, and, because horses might be
wanted, farmers and police troopers had ridden instead of driving.
Leland was capable of moving, but the young trooper was in a far worse
state, and sighed with relief when at last they stopped beside the
creek, where a dense growth of willows kept off the stinging wind.
"I'm that cold I 'most can't hump myself," he said. "Seems to me I
haven't got any feet on. I guess they're froze. Still, it's not quite so
cruel as the night the corporal got one of his nipped. We were sleeping
way back up Long Traverse trail in a pit in the snow, and were too
played-out to waken when the fire got low. The frost had the corporal by
the morning, but we'd most of twenty leagues to make, with two or three
mighty cold camps on the way, and his moccasins opened up a wound. You
couldn't have told he had a foot when I last saw him."
Leland said nothing. He was not inclined for conversation, and knew that
instances of the kind were not uncommon. The wardens of the prairie
probably know more about cold than anybody, except Arctic explorers,
and they are expected to face it shelterless in the open for days
together when occasion arises. They cannot always find a birch-bluff to
camp in, and the snow is frequently too thin to throw up a bank between
them and the wind. Only hard men continue in that service, and perhaps
the prairie wolf alone knows what becomes of some of the unfit who try
it.
The lad, however, seemed impelled to talk, and stamped up and down
beating his mittened hands, with the swivel of his slung carbine
jangling as he moved.
"One would 'most wonder why you folks took a hand in," he said. "I guess
if I'd been a farmer, it's more than I'd have done myself. There seem to
be a blame lot of the rustlers, and, so far as we can figure, they stand
in together. The three or four of us can't be everywhere at once, and
they might take a notion of getting even by playing the fire-bug when
the grass is dry in harvest season. I'd plough my fire-guards twice as
wide. It would be quite easy to burn up a ripening crop."
Leland was aware that there would, unfortunately, be no difficulty in
doing this, but he was willing to take his chances, and did not answer
the lad. Indeed, the probable loss of a crop appeared a comparatively
small matter to him just then. He was sore and bitter, and a feud with
the outlaws would have been almost a relief. He felt that Branscombe
Denham had tricked him, but sincerely desired to stand well with his
wife, in spite of her scornful attitude towards him. He did not blame
her for that altogether, though her words still rankled, but he would
not expose himself to her disdain again, and had decided that if things
were to be different, the first advances must be made by her. In the
meanwhile, it was singularly unpleasant to both of them, and that night
he was in a very sensitive and somewhat dangerous mood as he stood
shivering among the willows.
"I guess they should be here by now, if the fellow who told us was
playing a straight game," said the lad. "The trouble is, they've a good
many friends, and nobody can tell exactly who's standing in with them.
It's kind of easier to pick up an odd case of whisky and say nothing
than to give us the office and have a fire-stick shoved into your
granary. I'm not counting too much on the Ontario man."
In the meanwhile, the others fretted at the cold, and wondered how long
the outlaws meant to keep them waiting. Two of them, upon whom all the
rest depended for the warning, were just then crouching, almost frozen,
where the thinnest of the birches broke off abruptly, watching a group
of vague, shadowy shapes moving in their direction across the white
wilderness. Gallwey stood behind them. A bank of sombre cloud sailed
across the moon, and left the watchers in almost utter darkness.
"I can make out four, and there are more behind," said the trooper.
"It's a sure thing. Snow's deep, and, as we figured, they'll stick to
the trail. Guess you'd better get back and tell the Sergeant."
Gallwey slipped away, and there was silence for several minutes while
farmer and policeman crept a little further back amidst the trees. Then
a soft patter of hoofs and an occasional rattle came up the bitter wind
as a line of men and horses grew into shape. They came on boldly, the
men growling to one another and at the beasts. With no outriders
forward, they plunged into the shadow of the birches. There the sounds
grew louder, and the thud of hoofs, hoarse voices, crackle of trodden
twigs, and creaking and jolting of burdens on pack-saddles, rang
startlingly distinct through the crisp air. The trooper counted at least
a dozen horses, but he could not quite make out how many men, for they
walked among the loaded beasts, and the trail was very dark.
They went on by, half-seen, dim shadows that jostled one another among
the trees; and, when the voices and the trampling grew less distinct,
the trooper moved out into the trail, with his carbine in his mittened
hands. The trap was sprung, for, if one or two of the outlaws succeeded
in breaking through, it was evident that they must, at least, leave
their beasts behind. With the farmer close behind him he moved
cautiously a little nearer his comrades and then stood still again.
It was, perhaps, five minutes later when Leland, who was pacing to and
fro, stopped abruptly, and held up his hand as the young trooper
materialised out of the gloom in front of him.
"Can't you hear something?" he said.
The trooper thought he could, but his ears were almost covered by the
big fur cap, and whilst they stood listening the birches swayed and
wailed before a bitter gust. It seemed to search them to the marrow, for
the cold was keen as a knife. Then through the night there came a dull,
thudding sound down from the ridge above, and the trooper flung his
carbine forward.
"They're here, sure," he said. "It's even chances we don't get a whack
at one of them."
They stood listening for a minute or two, intent and high-strung, and
heard only the wailing of the wind, for the birches once more swayed
about them. It was almost dark, for the moon was still behind a cloud.
As he moved his mittened hands on the Marlin rifle, Leland forgot that
he was stiff in every limb. Then a voice rang, harsh and commanding, out
of the shadows above them.
"Stop right there," it said. "We have got you covered."
It was followed by the whip-like crack of a pistol-shot, there was the
louder jarring ring of a carbine or a farmer's rifle, and a confused din
broke out. Men shouted and scuffled in the gloom, loaded beasts
blundered among the trees and the undergrowth, while through it all
there rose the detached beat of hoofs.
"One or two of them lit out, anyway," said the trooper. "Guess they'd
slash the pack lariat, and get into the saddle when they'd let the
whisky go. That sounds like one of the boys after them. Chancing a
gallop, too. They'll break their necks certain, if they ride that way
through the bluff."
He stopped a minute, and just then a faint silvery radiance swept
athwart the birches as the moon shone down. It sparkled on the dropping
smear of snow-sheeted trail, and the lad ran forward a pace or two
fumbling with his carbine.
"Look out, Mr. Leland!" he shouted. "There are two of them riding slap
down on us."
Two indistinct objects swept out of the shadows, and a moment later
resolved themselves into men and galloping horses. They were thundering
headlong down the sharply falling trail, and Leland felt his nerves
tingle as he watched them. He was in a particularly unpleasant temper
that night, and the prospect of an encounter stirred the half-frozen
blood in him. He glanced over his shoulder, and saw the trooper standing
a few paces away from him, and then fixed his gaze up the trail ahead.
The horsemen were coming on at a mad gallop, taking their chances of a
stumble, and he could see the powdery snow whirl about them like dust.
Then they saw him standing grimly still in the middle of the trail, for
one shouted a warning to the other, and the trooper cried aloud:
"Hold on! Pull up before we plug you," he said.
There was no answer. The riders were hard and fearless men, probably
wanted by Montana sheriffs for things they had done during the cattle
war, and they showed no sign of drawing bridle. One of them howled
shrilly as he whirled a whip about his shoulders, and for a moment
Leland saw him sway in the saddle with the beast stretched out beneath
him.
Then there was a flash, and a detonation he scarcely heard, a cloud of
smoke that floated up the trail, and man and horse came thundering down
on him. He felt the jar of the Marlin rifle on his shoulder as he aimed
at the flying form of a horse. In another moment the outlaw was almost
upon him. Then in savage recklessness he leapt forward instead of back,
with a hand that sought the bridle and an arm the rider's leg. His
fingers closed on something--bridle, or saddle, or stirrup--and he clung
with a stiffened grasp, while his feet were torn from under him and a
rifle flashed.
Exactly what happened after that he did not know, but he was hurled
forward, still clutching at something, with feet that scraped the snowy
ice of the creek; and then there was a heavy crash, and what he held was
torn away from him. He felt himself driven into a bank of snow, and lay
there for perhaps a minute wondering vaguely if the life had all been
smashed out of him, and listening to a sound of scuffling and
floundering close by. Next he essayed to draw one of his feet up, and,
to his astonishment, found that he had no great difficulty in
accomplishing it. That done, he raised himself shakily, and, scrambling
to one of the birches, leaned against it, gasping a little. A few
seconds earlier he had been almost certain that he would never stand up
again.
In the meanwhile the moonlight had grown a trifle brighter, for he could
see a horse that lay near the middle of the creek still moving
convulsively. Nearby, wrapped in an old fur coat, was an object that did
not move at all. The trooper, who now had no carbine, stood stooping a
little as he looked down on it, and there was a curious significant
stillness in his attitude, whilst as much as could be seen of his young
face appeared a trifle colourless. It was a moment or two before he
became aware that Leland was on his feet again.
"He's dead, sure. It's the first man I ever plugged," he said, and his
voice rang strained and harsh in the frosty air. "He just pitched off
and never moved. Guess it couldn't have hurt him."
One could have fancied he was anxious about the point, but in another
moment he turned away with a little deprecatory gesture, and commenced
to grope about for his carbine.
"Anyway, I couldn't help it, and it was that quick--he never wriggled
any--he couldn't have felt it."
The thing had its effect on Leland, though he had seen something very
like it happen before, and he laid his hand reassuringly on the lad's
shoulder.
"I don't think you need worry," he said. "He took his chances when he
wouldn't stop, and it's not your responsibility. Anyway, we may as well
make quite sure that he is dead."
There was no doubt on that point when he dropped on one knee beside the
man, and he nodded as he glanced at the trooper.
"A sure thing. I'd like some kind of notion of what happened," he said.
"You jumped at him yonder, but I didn't quite see what you got hold of.
Anyway, you went along with the horse--and him--until I pulled off, and
you all came down together. You went down on the ice with a bang 'most
fit to break it, and then into the snow-bank yonder. Guess you plugged
the horse in a soft place when you fired. In the meanwhile the other man
went by--whooping--like a whirlwind."
That was about all the explanation Leland ever got, but in another
moment or two the trooper, who seemed to be looking at him curiously,
spoke again.
"I'm kind of dazed," he said. "There's quite a lot of blood running down
your forehead. I've been watching, and it never struck me you'd better
know. I'll go up now and tell the Sergeant 'bout the other fellow who
lit out."
Leland, who thrust back his fur cap and felt the gash on his forehead,
decided that he was a little confused too, or he would have noticed that
there was a warm trickle running down the outside of his nose. His
mittens showed red smears in the moonlight when he tried to brush it
away. When he next looked round, the trooper had disappeared; and,
moving rather shakily, for his fall had not been without its effect, he
too plodded up the climbing trail.
When he reached the level, he found several dejected men with manacled
hands, and a line of loaded horses with two of the troopers watching
them. The Sergeant, who appeared to be giving instructions to one of the
troopers, turned to him.
"We have got four of them and most of the horses, but, so far as I can
figure, two or three must have got away," he said. "The boys will try to
pick their tracks up, and I'll ask you to give us a hand with the
pack-horses as far as the forking of the trail."
Leland contrived to drive two of the loaded train, though his head was
aching and he felt very dizzy. When at last he was about to turn off
into a second sledge-track, the Sergeant pulled up his horse beside him.
"We are much obliged, Mr. Leland, and you'll hear all that's done," he
said. "Still, it's a kind of pity one of the two you fell in with got
away."
"I don't suppose you are particularly pleased any of them broke through,
for that matter," said Leland.
The Sergeant made a little impressive gesture. "The point is that they'd
both have got off, if it hadn't been for you, and that fellow's partner
isn't going to blame--the trooper. That's all in the business. Well, if
I were you, I'd keep clear of the bluffs and ravines if you have to go
out when it's dark."
He shook his bridle and rode on, whilst Leland stood a minute or two
watching the others straggle out along the trail. Last of all a trooper
led a horse which carried an amorphous burden wrapped in a fur coat, and
lashed on with a pack-lariat. Something that looked like a moccasined
foot trailed down on one side in the snow, and, judging from the trouble
the beast gave its driver, it did not like what it carried.
"It's quite likely that fellow's partner will try to get even," he
said.